


Allemande: Finding Our Footing

by shimadagans



Series: The Butterfly Suite [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Depictions of sibling abuse, M/M, Music school AU, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimadagans/pseuds/shimadagans
Summary: "We should talk.""Guess I saw that one coming. Yeah, we really should."Felix is tired of Sylvain avoiding him. Sylvain is tired of running.Brief depictions of sibling violence, use of slurs. Part two of a series.





	Allemande: Finding Our Footing

Felix isn’t sure how he ends up back in his dorm, but he thinks he remembers Dimitri escorting him up here, taking the elevator because he wasn’t sure Felix could handle stairs at the moment. He shakes his head, willing his brain to make sense of what happened.

He was at orientation. He met up with Mercedes, met Annette, then met up with Ingrid and Dimitri. They met all their professors, and the dean, and the new professor, and then a string quartet played.

And Sylvain was there, for some reason.

Which means he goes here, too.

Felix walks himself into his bathroom--already grateful he’d signed up for a single dorm with no roommate to account for--and scrubs his face with cold water.

He goes through the facts to ground himself.

He goes to the Seiros School of Music. So does Sylvain, apparently. And they share at least one professor. He probably only has a few hours at most to himself before Ingrid comes around. She’ll want to talk about it. About Sylvain. And about how Felix reacted to seeing him. That means he’ll either have to make up some excuse for how he’s acting, or he’ll have to actually be honest with Ingrid and probably Dimitri about how he’s been trying to ignore how he feels about Sylvain for years.

Felix grips the sink and stares at himself in the mirror, strands of inky hair hanging in his face, tugged loose from his bun.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of being gay, he reasons with himself. It’s about _who_ he has feelings for that’s the cause of shame. Impeccably straight Sylvain Gautier, who he hasn’t seen in years, who he last saw when he left him sitting on the porch swing when Felix couldn’t handle losing another person dear to him.

_Weak_, he calls himself, then he numbly shuts the water off and goes to sit by the window, where his phone lights up with texts from Ingrid.

They meet up at the dining hall, and Felix picks at his food and tries to pretend he’s feeling like himself again.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Ingrid says, tone even, like she had decided this as soon as she saw him, “If nothing else, for answers. I feel like something else happened.”

“It’s strange, how quickly his family left town,” Dimitri intones, quiet as he can manage, “Stranger still that he never tried to contact any of us again.”

“He tried, once,” Felix manages, avoiding the way they both swivel to stare at him, “Just to say goodbye. I didn’t respond.” The ‘I wish I had’ goes unspoken.

“Still, it’s fishy. At least he seems to be doing okay here,” Ingrid shrugs, “Whatever happened, it doesn’t seem to have gotten to him much.”

Felix tries not to think about all the different emotions he saw on Sylvain’s face in a single moment. It’s not his strong suit, emotions, or reading them. He knows, through experience, Sylvain only lets people see what he wants them to see unless he’s really rattled, and it worries him. Felix must pull a face because Dimitri clears his throat, changing the subject, “Have you heard? Chamber groups are being announced later this week. I asked Professor Eisner about it, they said there will be some mixed groups this semester, to encourage cross-disciplinary community.”

The conversation heads towards steadier topics, like how much they’re dreading 8 AM theory, or speculation of what they’ll play in large ensemble. Felix manages to get down some food, and being here, with his friends, makes him feel more _here_. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he lets Dimitri put a hand on his shoulder without complaint, and he lets Ingrid fuss over his hair before they split up to practice. They don’t make him talk about how he reacted.

It feels like it’ll work out.

Then, a few days later, two days after classes begin in earnest, the chamber groups get posted.

He gets a text from Dimitri in their group chat, and the picture attached is a bit blurry, but he can clearly read the group he’s been put in.

_Smetana String Quartet No. 1_

_Dimitri Blaiddyd_

_Ingrid Galatea_

_Felix Fraldarius_

_Sylvain Gautier_

Felix is in one of the keyboard labs, working through his theory homework when he gets the message, and he laughs out loud. It startles the only other person in the room, a purple-haired sophomore he’s barely talked to, and she fusses over her dropped books, muttering to herself.

_You’re joking _comes Ingrid’s response, then, the damn multi-texter, _hold on I have a lesson with prof Eisner later ill ask them about this._

_I already have_. _They said it was no mistake, they wanted to have at least one string quartet, and they said it’s a good opportunity for all of us, for us to learn from an older student, and for the older student to get more leadership experience._

Dimitri’s response makes him think, and he sends back: _Do u think they know_

The other two speculate, and Felix can only wonder if Sylvain had anything to do with this or if this is just the universe screwing him over.

He packs up his stuff to head to his much-dreaded English class. Hopefully he’ll be frustrated enough by his mind-numbing gen-eds not to worry about it too much, but he knows himself. If nothing else, he’ll stop by the gym before dinner to try to burn off some of the restless energy he can’t seem to displace since he first got here. It’s driving him up the wall, this situation he can’t seem to do anything about.

_Maybe this is an opportunity you could take advantage of,_ his brain supplies, sounding suspiciously like his father, _maybe you can talk to him._

Felix snorts and shoves open the door to the music building, almost walking right into that one unfairly attractive trumpet player and the pink-haired girl that seems attached to his hip. They eye him, then split into near identical grins that he doesn’t trust _at all_, waving at him as they pass.

He’s already gotten a bit of a reputation for being cold, but it’s not like he’s been rude. He just doesn’t see much of a point in ‘fostering friendships’ or whatever bullshit the dean was spouting the other day. It’s simple, he’ll be cordial, but he’s not here to make friends, having Ingrid and Dimitri is enough already.

* * *

Felix tries to corner Sylvain after the first orchestra rehearsal, knowing he keeps his cello case backstage, out of the way. He rushes backstage as soon as Byleth dismisses them, only to huff in frustration when there is no teal case nor cellist to be found. Dimitri follows him in, then sighs and turns to make nice with one of the bassists who also stuck their stuff back here. He resolves to be quicker next time, because really, this is getting ridiculous, and turns back to the stage, almost running into the professor.

“Something the matter?” they ask, “You started packing up as soon as we finished.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, ducking his head, realizing that probably came off as rude, “I was just trying to catch someone before they left.”

The professor just nods and seems to see right through him, peering at the service door that had been propped open behind him, “It’s alright, no need to apologize,” they hesitate, then turn to leave, themselves, “Don’t forget to practice that one bit in the second movement. I’m counting on you to help lead your section.”

Felix winces and leaves down the back hallway, fully aware of the responsibility weighing on him now that Professor Eisner had made him second chair. His friends had been excited for him when the professor announced the seating audition placements at the start of rehearsal, but all Felix had seen was Sylvain, sitting pretty at principal.

Luckily, he’d been able to pay attention as they’d worked through parts of Beethoven’s 5th. It seemed that both Professor Eisner and Professor Rangeld would be working with the symphony, to ease the former’s transition into teaching. Felix had spotted them speaking together during the break halfway through, comparing notes. Ingrid had been bemoaning her placement, vowing to work even harder for the next audition, and Dimitri had roped him into listening to him play his solo work (the 2nd Bartok Concerto) for the semester later, so he hadn’t had time to look for Sylvain during break, either. He has a feeling, though, that his friends were distracting him on purpose, and he’s annoyed, but grateful.

* * *

He’s leaving his weekly lesson with Byleth, as they insist he calls them (“Oh, _please_, no ‘Professor Eisner’, that makes me sound like my dad,”) when he sees one of the upperclassmen putting up a poster on the corkboard outside Byleth’s office. He blames being distracted by his stiff shoulder from an hour straight of playing for being slow enough that the upperclassman catches him trying to read the flier over her shoulder.

“Interested in coming?” she asks, and when all she gets in return is a blank stare, she smiles and taps the poster. Felix squints at the paper in question, which proclaims that the university-wide LGBTQ+ club is hosting its first meeting of the new semester next week. Before he can respond, she shakes her head and holds out her hand, “Sorry, shouldn’t assume _every_ pretty-boy musician is gay. I’m Dorothea, one of the officers of the club. Felix, right?” When he eyes her apprehensively, she takes it upon herself to reach for one of his hands, shaking it once, “Nice to actually meet you. Heard a bit about you from—actually, how are classes treating you so far?” She cuts herself off, changing topics abruptly, but Felix lets it go, unsure if he wants to hear what she’s heard about him, “It’s been…alright. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Wow, so mature,” she giggles, and he kicks himself for sounding like such a tryhard before her expression hardens into something that screams ‘big sister’, “Really, though. Don’t let yourself get overwhelmed. Most of us are here for one another, so don’t hesitate to reach out if you need help. Maybe I’ll see you at the meeting?”

“Sure, maybe,” he responds, and she gives him a knowing look, “I heard a certain cellist might show up, he goes sometimes.”

Felix gapes at her, then, fiery, “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re _really_ not subtle, that’s all. Don’t read too much into it, pretty boy.”

She lets him go with a wave, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Byleth appears in the doorway, gives the poster and Felix a nod, then slinks back into their office. Felix realizes with dawning horror that they probably heard that whole conversation and makes haste to the stairwell, his case thumping against his back and his face surely pink.

By the time their first scheduled chamber rehearsal rolls around, Felix has had enough. He’s the first one in Byleth’s office, and they greet him with a wave, getting up from their desk and pushing their sleeves to their elbows to arrange stands and chairs. They let the silence stay, something Felix appreciates, so he can try to center himself before the inevitable shitstorm that’s about to happen. Ingrid arrives next, and Dimitri soon after, both giving muted hellos before unpacking and starting to tune, bringing their small talk with them.

Barely a minute before rehearsal starts, Sylvain saunters in, a tumbler in hand, and the room goes quiet. Byleth admonishes him and he has the decency to at least appear sheepish before he tunes to Dimitri and Byleth sits down in front of them. Felix feels like he’s going to combust, trying as hard as he can not to stare at the cellist barely a few feet away from him.

“I trust you’ve all taken a moment to listen to the piece?” their professor asks, fingers hovering over their tablet, and when they all nod, though Felix’s gaze catches on something Sylvain clips to his stand: the little stand clip Felix had gotten all of them for the holidays years ago. He must have zoned out because Byleth clears their throat and Felix jumps back to attention, realizing the others are all staring at him, instruments in place.

He clears his throat and matches their posture, watching Dimitri cue the other two. They set the sound for him, a little rough at first before they settle into harmony, a turbulent E minor chord. Felix listens, breathes, and _plays._

It’s not his absolute favorite viola solo bit, but its decent enough. A quartet about Smetana’s life and love of art, of music. It’s been required reading for him since he started down this path, and though he’s fully expecting Byleth to stop them, they just let them play. They’re all on the edges of their seats, but it’s almost familiar. Sylvain still sniffs on the rests right before he comes back in, and Dimitri still huffs under his breath when he misses an accidental. Ingrid still looks to the others for her placement in the overall sound, and they manage to get to the end of the first movement. They’re all dazed, especially Felix. Sylvain takes a deep breath next to him and Felix gets a decent look at him for the first time. His hair _is_ longer, copper waves down to his chin now, and his face has thinned just a tad, but it’s not a bad thing at all. He only tears his eyes away from the other’s gold gaze when Byleth addresses all of them, “Well done. It’s clear you’ve all put effort into learning your parts. Also,” each of them gets an even look from their professor, “It’s clear you’ve all played together before. Is that true?”

It gets mixed reactions, Ingrid nods, Dimitri sighs, Felix doesn’t meet their eyes, and Sylvain’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he responds, “That’s right, Professor-er, Byleth. We’re old friends.”

Felix can’t bring himself to call Sylvain out on his half-truth, but it seems he doesn’t need to when Byleth gives Sylvain another one of those see-right-through-you looks, “I see. Well, while it seems like there’s a good foundation here, there’s definitely some things we can refine.”

They guide them through a few parts where the cohesion was too loose and give Felix a few pointers on the timbre of the opening solo, “I know its in minor, but there’s no need to go so heavy right from the start. Give it time to bloom before you go so deep.”

By the time they’ve finished, Felix feels like he’s been dunked in a pool, wrung out, and hung up to dry, which is par for the course when it comes to lessons with Byleth. He enjoys it, though, knowing how far they’re going already to bring out the best in their students. Sylvain, of course, disappears as soon as it’s polite to do so, offering little more than a lack of eye contact and a wave over his shoulder. Felix grits his teeth, packing up so quickly he almost smacks Ingrid in the side with his case. He mutters an apology and races out the door and down the stairs, bursting out of the building, fully prepared to be eluded once again.

Sylvain, however, is right there, midway through lighting a cigarette, leaning up against the brick wall with his case at his feet. Eyes wide, he turns to face Felix, then rummages through his pockets for the box, offering it to Felix, “Want one?”

Felix figures his grimace is enough to dissuade him, because Sylvain shrugs and pockets the box again, “Suit yourself,” and makes no move to leave, leaning back against the wall again, “Classes going okay?”

Felix is caught off guard, _why is he acting so…normal?_ “They’re fine,” he bites out, sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling distinctly like he’s toeing the line, trying to keep the conversation alive for once, “I think Professor Cichol’s gonna fail half of my theory class just because he can.”

That startles a laugh out of Sylvain, who straightens against the wall. “Yeah, that sounds like him, the curmudgeon. ‘This will be due by the end of next class, no exceptions!’” He parrots, and he sounds so much like the man in question that it actually makes Felix smile. This feels so easy, suspiciously simple, but damn him for wanting to keep it alive.

They stand in silence for a while, Sylvain finishing off his smoke, but before he can finish crushing the remnants beneath his heel, Felix gathers his words again, “We should talk.”

Instead of running, or laughing, or doing anything Felix suspects, Sylvain fixes him with a look that borders on nervous, a look that makes Felix feel like he’s decided to stop running. “Guess I saw that one coming. Yeah,” he says, shoulders slumping as he bends to slide his case back onto his back, “Yeah, we really should.”

He beckons Felix down the sidewalk away from the music building and Felix, goddess help him, follows.

* * *

When they get to Sylvain’s place, Felix isn’t sure what to expect. He doesn’t know what to think about the quaint little building they walk up to. He doesn’t know what to think of the 3 flights of stairs Sylvain insists they take instead of the rickety little elevator. “Thing hasn’t been serviced since the 80’s, probably,” Sylvain jokes. Now this, Felix expects. The other man has never been one to let silence pass, always filling it with noise. Noise Felix missed dearly, even if he wished he didn’t.

He doesn’t know what to think of the door with the faded, chipped paint that Sylvain jiggles open. He doesn’t know what to think about the ragdoll cat that greets them both from the windowsill, nor the potted plants that surround her.

He’s grateful for the mug of tea (his favorite kind, actually) that Sylvain slides to him over his shitty little coffee table, if only because it gives him something to ground himself. He’s here. In Sylvain’s apartment. And they’re going to talk, apparently.

“So….” Sylvain sips at his tea, then grimaces, “Ouch, too hot. Uh,” he sets his mug down and immediately starts fidgeting with the drawstring of his navy hoodie, “It’s been a while, huh?”

“No shit,” Felix retorts, just before the wave of regret hits him. He’s here to get answers, not to fight. He takes a deep breath, “Sorry, that was uncalled for. Yes, it’s been awhile. How…how have you been?”

“Busy, honestly,” Sylvain laughs, though its stilted, “Once we moved, I had to play catch up. Uh,” he coughs, sheepish, “Remember how I told you that we moved because my mom got a new job?” At Felix’s nod, he sighs, “Well, if we’re gonna try being honest with each other, that’s only part of the reason. Miklan was the other part.”

Ah, yes, Sylvain’s older brother, the black sheep of the esteemed Gautier family. Someone who earned Felix’s hatred the first time he saw bruises on Sylvain’s arms, bruises that Sylvain had tried to laugh off as sibling tussling gone a bit too far. They’d only met twice, briefly, and both times Felix stood at Sylvain’s side, arms crossed and glare locked firmly in place.

“What happened?” Felix asks, because Sylvain seems to be a standstill, “He went to public school, yeah? Did he get in trouble there?”

“Yes, but it was complicated,” Sylvain hesitates, then shakes his head, “Sorry, right. Honesty. Openness,” another deep breath, and the next bit comes rushing out, “He got suspended for getting in a fight. Some dumbshit in his grade told him he’d seen me ‘sneaking around with some homo’. Called me a fag, the whole nine yards. A big mistake on that guys part, Miklan’s got a mean right hook,” the laugh Sylvain offers is bitter if nothing else, “So, uh. When he got home, he accused me of the same thing. Said ‘no brother of mine will be a faggot’ and tried to choke me out. Only stopped when Mom and Dad physically dragged him off me.”

Felix sets his mug down, promptly aware of how tight his hold on it has gotten, but the overwhelming urge to punch something or someone on Sylvain’s behalf remains. He thinks of what Miklan looked like, taller still than Sylvain, older than even Glenn, and still imagines exactly how he’d look with a busted nose and a black eye. Making eye contact with Sylvain, he consciously uncurls his fingers and says, firmly, “You didn’t deserve that. None of it.”

“Maybe not, but it still happened,” Sylvain shrugs, as if unaffected, though his iron grip on his own hands says otherwise, “They kicked him out. Gave him some cash and told him that if he was going to ‘make a scene’ then he’d best do it elsewhere. Somewhere he couldn’t stain their perfect image. Then, and this is rich,” his smile is grim, “They told me not to worry, that there was no way I could be gay, since I was always chasing girls. Their _good, straight_ son. Thing is, after that whole thing, after we moved to some new city where I knew nobody, to some new, even fancier arts school, I started to think otherwise.”

Felix’s hands have returned to their white-knuckled state, now for entirely different reasons. “What made you think otherwise? Far as I know, you were never interested in…”

“Men? I know, it seems outrageous, right?” another humorless laugh and Sylvain busies himself with his tea mug again, “I met some new people. They ran a club where people like me could figure ourselves out. I asked so many questions, I thought they’d throw me out, but they just answered my questions, then asked _me_ some. Found some stuff out about myself,” Sylvain scratches the back of his head, and Felix is somehow relieved to recognize the action as a nervous habit, “I’m bi. Wow, it feels weird to say out loud, most of the time people just assume based on who I’m out with.” Now, when he laughs, it’s a bit fuller, more believable. Felix _so _desperately wants to hold his hands, so he stops looking so nervous, and he takes a moment to punt that weird, soft feeling somewhere out of reach. He only realizes he’s staring when Sylvain clears his throat, the slightest tint of pink rising to his face, “Uh, Felix? You’re making me feel like I’ve grown another head or something.”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and drinks from his mug, so he doesn’t have to meet Sylvain’s eyes, “When did you uh. When did you realize?”

He can still feel Sylvain’s gaze boring right through him, but Sylvain replies, “Dunno exactly when. Funnily enough, you helped me realize,” Felix almost chokes on his tea but Sylvain barrels on, choosing to ignore it, “I had a really bad night, a few months after I moved, I felt so alone I could hardly move…” he gets a far off look in his eyes, “Felt so…restricted, overwhelmed. Felt like I couldn’t talk to you, or Ingrid, or Dimitri, ‘cause I thought you all hated me. So, I called Rodrigue in the middle of the night.”

“You called my _dad_?” Felix is more confused than anything, “Why?”

“Just the once, I swear. I just wanted to hear someone familiar,” Sylvain shakes his head, and his gold gaze hits Felix with remorse, “I felt awful about it as soon as I did it, it was 2 in the morning and I’m sure he had work the next day but. He convinced me to stay on the line. I talked to him, about what I was feeling, and how I was trying to find what…fit. He was quiet for a long time but then he told me ‘Sylvain, I’m going to tell you something that I’m not sure of, and I want you to keep it in confidence.’ He uh,” now, Sylvain won’t meet Felix’s eyes, “He told me about _you_.”

It takes a moment for Felix to process what it is that his father told him, and the realization sinks to the bottom of his stomach, making it churn, “He told you I’m gay.”

“Is it true?” Sylvain asks, voice softer than Felix has ever heard it, like he’s praying, “I wanted it to be true so badly back then, so I wouldn’t feel so…isolated, so awkward in my own skin.”

“Yeah, it’s true,” the words are harder to get out than Felix intended, getting stuck in his throat, “I’m. I’m gay.”

Sylvain reaches out across the coffee table, and Felix manages to look up, confused before Sylvain rolls his eyes, so fond it almost hurts him to see it, gesturing for Felix’s hand. He hunches forward from his perch on the busted, floral armchair so he can clasp Felix’s hand in both of his own, “Thank you, for telling me. It means a lot to hear you say it. I know,” he clears his throat, voice suspiciously tight, “I know we’ve both been through a lot since then, and I wish we could’ve helped each other through it. I know it’s my fault, for not try—”

“Like _hell _it is, Sylvain,” Felix curls his fingers to get a good grasp on one of Sylvain’s hands, “I’m not gonna let you sit here and blame yourself for me being a-a…a little _prick_, for being so mad at myself that I tried to act like it was your fault I wasn’t strong enough to handle it—”

“Nuh-uh, if I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself either, Felix, that’s not how this works,” Sylvain clucks at him, getting up and invading Felix’s space, sitting on the arm of the chair he’s currently occupying. Felix, to his credit, doesn’t move away. “We were both in shitty situations, yeah? Stuff beyond our control, and you were…well, maybe not _right_ to react that way, but its understandable. I definitely should’ve tried harder to stay in contact with you, even if it meant blowing up your phone with cat pictures every waking hour.”

“I would’ve liked that,” Felix says, staring right through Sylvain’s torso, “I would’ve acted like I hated every second, but I would’ve…relied on that, I think.”

Sylvain’s chest dips with a sigh and he reaches for Felix’s other hand, too, “We can’t change it now, no use in what ifs. Let’s just,” he wiggles their hands until Felix snorts and looks up at him, damn him for making him feel this soft, “Let’s just promise to make the most of the time we have _now_, okay? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds…tolerable,” and Felix hates how his voice cracks on the last part, even though Sylvain’s smile is worth it. He can feel how _warm_ Sylvain is, even with a few inches between them still, and suddenly he’s filled with gratitude, “I really am glad we’re here.”

“Aw, I’m glad to have my best friend back too,” Sylvain hums, then pauses, “Hey, Fe? Can I hug you?”

“Um, sure?” he replies, unsure of how to react, but Sylvain just pulls him up and wraps his arms around him and Felix feels like he’s _home_. He gets his arms around Sylvain and squeezes, and Sylvain holds him close. They stand like that for a while, at least a solid minute, with Felix’s face pressed into Sylvain’s chest and Sylvain’s face pressed into Felix’s hair, before the door jiggles on its hinges and Sylvain peeks over Felix’s head, “Oh, hey Ashe, didn’t think you’d be back yet.”

Felix tries to wiggle out of Sylvain’s hold, almost embarrassed, but Sylvain tuts at him “Oh, no you don’t, Felix, I’ve been deprived of this moment, of this hug for _years_, you’re not gonna worm out of it just cause my roommate walked in.” He at least lets Felix peek around him as his roommate comes further into the apartment, headed for the kitchenette. He mostly only sees a mop of silvery hair as Ashe sets bags down on the little table by the window, reaching out to pet the cat lounging there, “Hello, Jacqueline. Hello, Sylvain, hello Felix,” he calls over his shoulder, then pauses, turning to look at them, “Wait, Sylvain, _that _Felix? Your best friend from back then? The one you had a massive crush on? The one who—oh.”

“Ashe,” Sylvain says, voice strained but strangely calm, arms still wrapped around Felix, though a bit looser, “Stop talking, please, or I’ll refuse to do dishes for a week.”

“Right, er. Sorry. I’ll just. Uh. Go,” Felix watches Ashe dart down the hallway and hears a door close at the end of the hallway. He leans back just enough to fix Sylvain with a raised-eyebrow stare before Sylvain laughs and lets go of him, “Uh, haha, don’t mind him, he’s always making jokes like that.”

“A massive crush? On _me_? Could’ve fooled me,” Felix’s emotions clash behind his forehead, elation trading blows with disbelief, “You didn’t seem interested in any dudes, let alone _me_.” He conveniently leaves out the part about him pining for Sylvain, of course.

“Felix,” it comes out as a whine, “I didn’t _know_. I didn’t figure it out until later. I didn’t understand why I felt weird when you scolded me for constantly flirting. I just thought that’s how I was supposed to feel, all warm and prickly. Honestly, I started chasing girls _more_ so you’d chew me out.”

“It’s…hard to believe,” Felix clears his throat, hating the way he can feel heat rising to his face, talking faster, “That I’m the person that gave you your bi awakening, especially when you gave—” And, of course, Felix’s phone starts buzzing, screen lighting up with Ingrid’s contact when he yanks it out of his pocket.

“Shit, it’s Ingrid, hold on,” he scrambles to answer it, and as soon as he does:

“Felix! Where the hell are you?” she yells, and Felix winces and holds the phone further away from his ear. Sylvain snickers, obviously able to hear her. “You just took off with Sylvain after rehearsal and we haven’t heard from you since. What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, chill out,” he mutters, eyes flicking back to Sylvain, who, to his irritation, smirks and waves at him, “We’re just talking, really.”

“Uh huh. ‘Just talking’, I _told you_,” she says to someone on the other end, presumably Dimitri, “Well, it’s getting dark soon, don’t stay out too much longer, alright? We have that theory quiz tomorrow to study for. And tell Sylvain to text us so we have him in our phones.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave soon, bye _mother_,” he mutters, and hangs up just as he hears Ingrid sputter. Sylvain fixes him with a look that makes Felix want to fidget, “Everything good?”

“Yeah, you know how she is,” and he’s hit with the distinct realization that no, maybe Sylvain doesn’t. Maybe things have changed enough where the idea of Ingrid’s watchful eye is foreign to him now. But Sylvain just shakes his head and laughs, “Same as always, is she? Well, let’s get you back to your place. I don’t want her more pissed off at me than she has to be.”

They walk shoulder to shoulder, easier now that Sylvain is lacking his cello case, hands sometimes brushing. Sylvain fills the evening air with chatter about school, about the city, and Felix mostly listens, like it was before, like when they were kids. When they reach Felix’s dorm, Sylvain stops him from heading inside with a hand pressed around his wrist. He opens his arms and looks at Felix expectantly, and Felix obliges him with another hug, a little awkward with his case on his back.

“We can talk more later, yeah? I know we’re not in many classes together, but you have my number if you ever feel overwhelmed or anything,” Sylvain says, and Felix can feel his words resonate through his chest.

“What am I, you?” he snorts, but he gives Sylvain a squeeze before he pulls away, making sure he sees his eyes, almost orange in the dim streetlighting, “Thanks, Sylvain.”

“Anytime, Fe,” he smiles, wider than he had been earlier, and it makes Felix wish he could finish what he was saying earlier, almost.

Instead, he nods, then turns to head into the building. By the time he gets to the window in the stairwell, Sylvain is gone, but Felix still feels warm where they were pressed together.

**Author's Note:**

> Pieces referenced:  
Smetana String Quartet No. 1- "From My Life" in E Minor  
Beethoven Symphony No. 5 in C minor, Op. 67  
Bartok Violin Concerto No. 2 
> 
> Also, Sylvain's cat is named after Jacqueline du Pré, a British cellist whose Elgar I'm particularly fond of.  
Talk to me on twitter @shimadagans


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